


Chasing the Auguary

by Frankiesaurs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drugs, Long, Multi, Post-Order of the Phoenix AU, Sex, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frankiesaurs/pseuds/Frankiesaurs
Summary: When Nathandra Rosier disappeared at the height of the Wizarding World, few believe they would see her again. Fourteen years later, the Dark Mark begins to burn again on the arms of the Death Eaters still at large in the Wizarding World. Nathandra returns with every intention of finishing what she started. What exactly did she start?





	1. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first story I'm posting online. I've been working on it for a while. My plans are to post a chapter every two weeks. Please R&R.

The sound of a ticking clock filled the echos of large, empty manor, nestled in a dark and thick woods in Northern England. The inhabitants of the paintings that littered the walls were fast asleep, occasionally emitting sputtering snores. A young woman, the house’s only occupant, was tucked away inside one of the manor’s spare bedrooms. Despite the master bedroom being vacant, she prefered the room she had occupied as a young child to the one typically reserved for the head of the household. Posters of the old Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team hung alongside other childhood memories.

Nathandra Rosier woke to her pitch black bedroom from a jolt of pain on her left arm. In memory of a habit she had long forgotten, she reached over with her right hand and rubbed the place where her Dark Mark had long since faded into a pinkish scar. With a flick of her fingers, the candles in the chandelier over her bed burst into light. An ornate clock, decorated with winged creatures which appeared to be consuming the face, showed the time to be nearly four in the morning. 

Closing her eyes, she forced her breath to slow. “It was just a dream,” she muttered to herself. Rolling out of her bed, she plodded to the bathroom to wash the sweat off her face. Looking into the mirror, she saw the reflection of a young woman with long tight black curls cascading around her sharp cheekbones and bright blue eyes. As a child she had been frequently confused for her close mentor and cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. But standing topless in front of the mirror, the myriad of scars and tattoos that covered her body had slowly marked her as an individual.  

She ran her finger over the three deep scars that resembled blade cuts across her upper chest. They had long since healed but nonetheless stood out prominently on her physique. A long spiral mark ran from her forearm to her wrist on her right arm. She knew if she turned around it would reveal the pink welts from where she had been punished for letting the prisoners slip through her fingers the first time and her giant Auguery tattoo which covered her back. The marks on Nathandra’s slim and curvy frame told of a violent past. 

As she absentmindedly traced her markings, her heart began to race again once she saw that the mark on her arm was a blood red. She hadn’t see it that dark since the night of Halloween, 1981, the last time anyone had seen or heard from the Dark Lord. 

Abandoning the pretense of sleep, she walked back into the bedroom, pulled a ribbed tank top over her head, and tossed her long dark curls out from under the fabric. Slipping her wand into the waistband of her boxer shorts, she wandered through the dimly lit hallways of her home until she reached the kitchen. She grabbed her teapot, used her wand to fill it with water, and then tapped against it to set it a boil.

A soft ping echoed throughout the room as if it was originating from the walls themselves, a part of the wards that guarded her wooded estate against intruders. Designed to repel any unwelcome visitors, it was coded to only a few people for automatic entrance into the grounds. This visitor, however, had passed through the charms without a problem. Nathandra poured herself a cup of tea, while she waited for him or her to make their way up the long drive. 

She heard Doll, her house elf, welcome someone at the door with her squeaky high voice, and upon hearing the visitor's name she decided to retrieve her bottle of whiskey instead. She should have revoked this visitor’s entry privileges a long time ago. 

“What do you want, Lucius?” she asked, not bothering to hide her impatience or turn to greet the infamously irritating Lucius Malfoy as his heeled boots clicked across the floor. Dragon’s hide, no doubt. 

“Come now,” he replied in an arrogant drawal, “Is that any way to greet family?” 

“It’s four o’clock in the morning, what do you want?” She poured a bit of the whiskey into her tea and took a long pull straight from the bottle. 

“Is it really that much of a burden to welcome my company?” he said mockingly, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. Despite the late hour, he looked as though he was dressed for a business meeting with perfectly pressed robes and his long blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail. 

“Does my cousin know where you are so late at night?” She gave him a cold disapproving look. 

“No, Narcissa is still fast asleep in the manor,” he admitted. “Why don’t you put on something more decent, so we can put away any whispers of infidelity?”

“I wouldn’t touch you with a seven-foot pole. Get out of my house Lucius,” snapped Nathandra. She had always loathed his condescending tone. He was only seven years older than her, but had always talked down to her like one does to a young child. And the idea of having an affair with her cousin’s pompous husband made her shudder with disgust. 

“Oh, how I would love return to my warm bed. But it seems I have matters to discuss with you. Care to offer me a glass?” He gestured at the bottle sitting on the counter. 

“No.” She sipped on her tea, trying to decide if it was worth it to remove her cousin-in-law by force from her kitchen table. The alcohol burned her empty stomach, but she pursed her lips. 

“Come now, Nate,” his voice was still playful as he used her nickname. “This doesn’t have to be abrasive.” 

“And yet, you are still in my house. So I ask again. Why are you  _ here _ Lucius? And what were you going to do if I was asleep or not home?” 

“I am here for this,” he said rolling up his sleeves to reveal his Dark Mark also glowing red. “Which is the same way I knew I would find you awake and nursing your bottle,” a note of contempt on his lips.

Nathandra blinked at him as though he had pulled back a curtain in a great reveal to find nothing but a flobberworm lying in its own mucus.  

“Congratulations,” she said with biting sarcasm. “Turns out you weren’t Imperiused after all. You are Death Eater after all. I suppose one of us should alert the Wizengamot.” Lucius was one of the few Death Eaters who had avoided Azkaban by claiming he was under the Imperius curse. And donating healthy sums of money.  

“Stop being such a bitch,” he snapped back, a fleeting look of fear crossed his face. “He is supposed to be dead. What does this mean?” 

Nathandra let out a mirthless laugh, “Why don’t you ask your friends at the Ministry? Or Severus for that matter? Why come to my doorstep for answers?”   

“The Ministry has been five steps behind the Dark Lord since day one and you know that. Your line of work has access to information that…” 

Nathandra cut him off, “My  _ line _ of work? Forgive me if I am wrong, but wasn’t it you who said my line of work was a disgrace to my blood. You seem less appalled by it when it suits your needs.”  

“It is a disgrace,” yelled Lucius, losing his temper. “You whore yourself out to the highest bidder…” 

“I do not  _ whore _ myself out! I am not a prostitute!” 

“You kill and sell secrets to anyone willing to pay. What would you call it!?” Lucius had stood up and slammed his fists on the table. “It is certainly not a job of a respectable Pureblood woman…” 

“Do not act like you are so pure and righteous! You once had blood on your hands too. Many would even claim that you enjoyed it,” sneered Nathandra picking up her wand from the counter and aiming it at Lucius. “Now get out of my house before I decide family loyalty isn’t enough to keep you alive.” 

Instead of running out the door, he took a deep breath to calm his temper. “I will pay you for the information,” he said in a small voice dropping a velvet bag of coins, so heavy they could only be galleons, on the table. 

“I don’t want your money. I want you out of my house.” She shot a nonverbal curse at the ceiling above his head as a warning, “Now!” 

“Nathandra,” he pleaded, “I need to know. I need to know if my family is in danger.” 

Nathandra’s face was stony with indifference. “You should have thought about that before you publicly disavowed the Dark Lord. Now, I’m giving you one more chance to get the fuck out of my house.” Lucius stood with defeat and made to move towards the door. “Don’t send Narcissa here to plead your case in the morning. I won't be here, and it won't work regardless.” 

As Lucius passed her on his way to the door, he said, “I may have denied my allegiance to save my skin, but at least I wasn’t cast out to die. If the Dark Lord will not welcome me back with open arms, what do you think he will do to you?” Looking her in the eyes, he sneered, “You are just as afraid as the rest of us, yet you were too stubborn to allow your family to help. I wish you the worst.” With that he turned and stormed out, leaving Nathandra to stared blankly off into the dark void of her empty home. She’d known the day would come when the Dark Lord would return to power. She rose from the table, taking her whiskey with her. It was time to plan. 


	2. Chapter Two

Nathandra spent the early morning in her home’s large library, which she had collected over the years. As the light of the early morning sun shone through the large stained glass windows that made up the library's eastern wall, she collected her thoughts and prepared for her day. 

By the late afternoon she had arrived at the gates of Hogwarts, which were inexplicably unlocked. Opening them, she strove across the grounds. She looped through the winding and ever-shifting halls of the great school with as much familiarity as if she had never left. She had chosen to traverse the castle midway through the last lesson of the day, hoping to avoid students in the hallways. The fewer people to see her saw her, the better. She kept the hood of her dark robes pulled over her head as she passed a couple kissing at the stairs as she descended towards the Potions classroom in the dungeon. 

Pausing outside the wooden door, she could hear cauldrons bubbling away inside. She lifted the heavy handle slowly and crept into the classroom as inconspicuously as she could. Standing the shadows of the doorway, she could see her closest friend, Professor Severus Snape, standing at the front of a large classroom, surveying his students. While his gaze did not stray to the unexpected visitor, she could see his body tense at Nathandra’s arrival and the rest of the classroom, noticing, turned to look at her. 

“I did not tell you to stop working,” he growled in a deep but almost inaudible voice. The room filled with an aura of fear, as students suddenly snapped back to their work. Reluctantly, he strode up to Nathandra and lowered his voice, “You may come back after class has ended.” 

“That’s less than two minutes Sev,” she said, pulling her pocket watch from her robes to emphasize her point. “How about you let your students out now so we can talk?” 

Glaring at her, he opened his mouth to protest when he realized that the table nearest to them was listening intently to the conversation. The two girls, a red-headed Gryffindor and a blonde-haired Ravenclaw with a bottlecap necklace, looked with fascination at the mysterious visitor who dared talk back to the grumpy professor. 

“Five points from Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for eavesdropping,” he snapped at the girls and turned to Nathandra, pointing her to the door at the back of the room. “My office, now.” Clearly, he wanted her out of his classroom. 

Nathandra smiled politely and, instead of going into the back office, settled down in the large chair at the front of the classroom like a queen in her throne. Severus rolled his eyes and returned his attention to his students. Once they had bottled their work and exited the classroom, Severus swept his wand silently, clearing the student's’ stations, and slamming the door shut. 

“You are a brat,” he said, his stony face breaking into a smirk - the closest thing approaching a smile that Severus could muster. 

“Hello to you too Sev,” she said, standing and wrapping her arms around him a familiar hug. “How have you been?” 

“I’ve been fine, different year, same incompetency from my students. But if you wanted to inquire about my health you could have written to me, rathering than risking being caught by Dumbledore. Why are you here?” 

“Can we speak somewhere without being overheard by the bumbling professor?” Nathandra threw a hesitant glance at the door. 

“No,” replied Severus, sweeping the papers on his desk into a neat pile. Nathandra shot him an incredulous glance. “You did come to this castle. I cannot control what and where the headmaster goes, nor what he overhears.” 

“Fair enough. At least tell me you have something to drink in here.” She opened up a cabinet and began to rummage through it. 

“That is my private storage of potion ingredients,” he grabbed her wrist, like a parent stopping a young child from grabbing sweets in a candy store. “This is not a bar. But I believe I have some mead in my quarters.” 

Nathandra pulled her hand back from Severus and looked away. “Sorry, got carried away there,” she rubbed her Dark Mark. Severus studied her for a moment before opening his office door and ushering her to one of the seats around a dark wooden desk. 

“I’ll call down to the kitchens for dinner and for some wine to sate your depravity,” he said, selecting a piece of parchment of the desk and scribbling something with a quill. 

Ignoring the snide comment, Nathandra changed the subject. “Malfoy came to see me this morning.” 

“Impossible,” blurted Severus. “He has been front and center for the Quidditch World Cup hearings.” He tapped to bring her attention to a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet. Lucius could be seen sitting behind a distraught looking Barty Crouch, the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The headline read ‘Wizingenmont Members Demand Answers for Failure of Department of International Magical Cooperation at British World Cup.’

Nathandra laughed at the almost brazen way Lucius was pushing for the accountability against the attackers when he was certainly one of them. “He came at nearly four am,” she smirked. “But you knew that already. So, just get on with your pitch.” 

Severus looked up after throwing some floo powder into his fireplace, sending the instructions to the kitchens. “I want to hear your account of the evening.” 

“What do you think happened? He showed up and I told him to get the fuck out of my house.” 

“He is scared for Narcissa and Draco,” he sat back down across from Nathandra, studying her face. 

“He is scared for himself. The Dark Lord wouldn’t kill the families of those who escaped Azkaban. He would be taking out half of the Purebloods left.” 

“You hope,” Severus muttered. The mood in the room dropped. Both of them fell into a tense silence, neither willing to say what they knew was on both of their minds. 

There was a soft knock at the office door, and both Severus and Nathandra jumped. A house elf held their dinner on a tray and quickly set it on the desk and rushed out of the room. “Well, that’s perfect. Dumbledore knows I’m here now.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. “It is more than likely he already knew. I presume you had to break down the wards to get in.” 

“No, the gates were open and the wards were down. I walked right in.” Nathandra felt more on edge at the news that the gates were normally locked, but tried to convince herself that it was just a coincidence. To distract herself, she grabbed her fork and stuck it into the shepard’s pie in front of her. “Will you return to his side when the time comes?” 

“Will you?” he shot back almost immediately. 

“Don’t answer my question with another question.” 

Severus thought for a moment before answering, “I will do what is asked of me.” 

Nathandra laughed, “What a diplomatic answer. I suppose the true question would have been on whose side you return to the battlefield.” She continued to enjoy her dinner while Severus left his untouched and growing cold on the table. “Don’t worry Sev, I’m not stupid enough to want to know the answer to that question. Eat or you’ll wither away to nothing.” 

“You didn’t answer my question Nate. And I don’t need you to be my mother.” 

“I’m better than a mother, because I’ll tell you I told you so,” Nathandra took a big gulp from her wine glass. Holding it up to the candlelight illuminating the office, she swirled the burgundy liquid while Severus waited for her to continue. “I’ve spent the past twelve years building my network and reputation, for what? The hope that the Dark Lord would stay an incorporeal being, barely surviving in that forsaken forest.” A spare potions knife began floating through the air towards Nathandra by wandless magic, who caught it mid-flight. “If I had my way, I would slice open the throat of whatever fool thought it was a good idea to return the Dark Lord to his powers.” She dragged the knife across the dulled Dark Mark, drawing a thin line of blood. 

“You’re a fool to try and fight the Dark Lord. If you have come here looking for an ally, you will not find one in me.” Severus reached across his desk and seized the knife from her fingers. “I don’t make it a habit of following crazy women who look for risks for a thrill.” 

Nathandra laughed and pushed her wild hair out of her face. “Who said I was going to try and oppose the Dark Lord? I’m going to walk into the lion’s den and beg for forgiveness from the rash actions of my youth,” she said, batting her long eyelashes at Severus - the very image of repentance. 

It was Severus’ turn to let out the gruff equivalent of a laugh, “You have a better chance surviving a hippogriff stampede.” 

“I did that once,” replied Nathandra. She withdrew a large envelope from within her robes. “Here. It has instructions for what happens if it doesn’t work.” Severus’ face slipped back into its usual cold unwavering mask. “I’m leaving most of it to you, with some sentimental things for my father if he ever gets out of Azkaban.” Severus began to protest, but Nathandra rose and held up her hand for him to stop. “You’re the closest thing I’ve got to family left, Sev. Just promise me you’ll let someone else in eventually.” She bent over him and kissed his cheek before moving towards the door. 

As she reached the door, she turned over her shoulder and winked at him. “Don’t worry Sev, I’m very hard to kill. I expect you at my Halloween party, or I will revise my will,” she called as she threw her hood on and slipped back out of the castle. 

* * *

 

As she walked out of the castle’s gates and prepared to apparate, a large owl came bowling towards her. 

“What the fuck?” she shouted after it as it flew into the night sky, picking up the piece of parchment that had dropped at her feet . “You suck at your job you stupid bird!” The paper had no indicated source or sender, just five words scrawled across the page, ‘Movement in the murder manor.’ Crumpling the note into her pocket, she apparated away. 

Breathless, Nathandra landed outside a small pub in a misty little town nestled between two rolling hills. The building's paint was peeling, and the sign -- now boasting itself as the abode of 'The Han-ed Man' -- was missing its G. Hearing drunken voices from within, she slipped into the shadows of the alley between the buildings and transformed her cloak into a long leather jacket, revealing the black pants and crop top she wore underneath. Double-checking her new appearance, she pushed her way inside. The pub was even more decrepit inside. A few sad looking blue-collar village Muggles sat scattered between the bar and the few clean tables. Spotting her target, she slid into the booth across from a scrawny acne-scarred man.  

He jumped at her sudden appearance, nearly falling out of his seat. “Holy shit Nate, you scared me.” 

Holding up the owl's message, and placing it on the table between them, she responded tersely. “Talk.” 

Composing himself, he ruffled his already thinning hair. “Uh, well there has been some light and stuff on over at the manor. And the old caretaker disappeared. Umm,” he rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a cutting of an old Muggle newspaper. 

Nathandra snached it out of his hand. “This is almost a month old, Paul.” she drew her wand out of her pocket and pressed it to his stomach under the table. “Why am I only getting this information now? You were to owl me the moment anything happened.” 

“I’m sorry,” he whined, trying to move away from her wand tip. “I’ve been away. You know I’ve got those gambling debts, and well I went on a little holiday to let it all blow over. It’s probably some Muggle teenagers having a laugh.” 

“What do the Muggle police think happened to him?” she said, drawing his attention back to the newspaper clipping. 

“Dunno,” shrugged Paul. “The people he remember him as the old village crank. Everyone here thinks he was the one who killed the Riddle family back in the day. They whisper that the Muggle wars in the 40s turned him funny. Whatever the fuck that means.” He drained the his beer in an attempt to steel his nerves. “Why have you had me watching this place anyways? It seems like an awful waste of time.” He put a small spiral notebook on the table, “I paid this stupid Muggle to take notes while I was on holiday. Anything he saw is written down in here.” 

“Where can I find him?” she asked, snatching the notebook and slipping it into her pocket. 

“Oh come now, Nate,” he looked uncomfortable again, “That Muggle, he ain’t know nothing about nothing.” 

She gave him a sharp jab to the stomach. “Where can I find the Muggle, Paul?” A small house with an address flashed behind Paul’s eyes and Nathandra removed her wand. She knew where to find the unplanned observer, who would shortly not be an issue. 

“Obliviate,” she whispered and Paul’s eyes slide out of focus. 

“Hmm, whatcha doing here Nate?” His voice was muddied, hazy with the weight of recently forgotten memories. 

“Just paying you,” she dropped a bag of gold coins in front of the dazed wizard. “Job's done, forget you heard of this place. And lay off the gambling.” She slapped his arm, stood up, and left the grungy pub, not even glancing at the Muggles still nursing their drinks at the bar. 

* * *

 

The Riddle house sat decaying on the cliffs overlooking the village of Little Hangleton. Ivy and other plants climbed the side of the house, making it look like it was being consumed by the greenery. The sun was setting on a cloudy and misty October evening, giving the place a gloomy twilight glow. 

Nathandra’s cloaked figured rose silently from the valley below. She moved slowly, grasping for the wards she assumed would guard the house from magical guests. Feeling the soft humming of energy as she approached, she extended her hand, almost caressing the barrier. The wards had been poorly constructed. With little effort, Nathandra made short work of the sloppily cast protection spells. Pulling her hood over her head, she held her wand aloft--this was starting to feel like a poorly laid trap. Regardless of the state the Dark Lord was in, he would never have cast spells so incompetently. 

Nathandra made her way to the house through the shadows, and circled the perimeter. The paint on the building was peeling in the few areas where the elements hadn’t already stripped it bare. The smell of rotting wood and animals was overwhelming. Approaching a jimmied-open window, she could see a soggy looking couch directly within. With a groan, she stuck her wand between her teeth and rolled through the window onto the couch. The dull thud of her body connecting with the couch reverberated through the silent house. 

She sprung to her feet, sweeping the room with her eyes. Her ears pricked up at the sound of floorboards creaking above her. Slipping past faded paintings and dusty chandeliers, she made her way up the ancient staircase. A soft flickering of a firelight trailed out of a door at the end of the hallway. 

She worked her way towards the light. Softly placing each footstep she made, she strained her ears to hear any hint of voices. She expected to turn the corner and see Sirius Black sitting with the Dark Lord. His escape from prison had been well publicized and though she had her contacts searching around the globe for him, she had yet to find him. It had been one of the biggest surprises for her to learn that the outspoken estranged Black heir had chosen to betray his best friend, James Potter and his wife, for the man he had been so outwardly against his entire life. But it was also the most plausible explanation for the Dark Lord’s sudden return to England. 

Nearing the door, she paused hearing shuffling footsteps from inside the room. A small man, who made his short stature worse by slouching, appeared at the door. Nathandra sent the  _ levicorpus _ spell at him, throwing him into the air as if held up by invisible ropes and catching his wand as it fell from his hand. 

“Pettigrew?” Her words were coated with a mixture of disgust, disappointment, and sheer loathing. He was meant to be dead, one of Black’s final victims according to multiple eyewitness accounts. He had been one of Sirius and the Potters’ close friends, and another member of the Order of the Phoenix. It suddenly became clear what the Ministry had gotten wrong. 

“Nathandra,” the hair on the back of her neck pricked up. The cold voice was unnaturally high, higher than she had ever heard before; but it was unmistakable who it belonged to. “You have always been full of surprises.”

“My Lord,” she answered reverently. Still holding Pettigrew's wand in her left hand, she stepped into the doorway and bowed her head. 

“Enter,” the voice ordered but, as she looked around, Nathandra did not see the Dark Lord’s tall figure anywhere in the room. Nathandra looked back at the hanging Pettigrew, searching his eyes for any signs of deceitfulness. He looked horrified, as if he were about to die at any moment. 

Nathandra released Pettigrew with a swish of her wand and hear him collapse gracelessly on the floor. Her eyes scanned the room. Three tall chairs, a broken side table, and a drink cart pushed askew were the only piece of furniture littering the room. Over the flickering fire, a caldron simmered away -- emitting sickly sweet odor. A large snake was coiled in its warmth. Tucking Pettigrew’s wand away in her robe, she circled the chair facing away from her at the fire. 

It took all her composure to keep from reacting to what was waiting for her in the chair. It was the size and shape of newborn child, but with skin gaunter and more distressed than a vampire. It looked as though a child had been swallowed and then spat back out from a snake’s acidic stomach. 

“My Lord,” she repeated, dropping to her knees. She fought back the feeling of the humiliation which came with acknowledging her lack of autonomy in the relationship. To avoid the detection of her emotions, she turned her attention to Pettigrew, whimpering in the corner. Pathetic man. 

A cold mirthless laugh came from the bundle. “Why have you returned to me? Have you decided that you were good enough to abandon the task you agreed to?” 

“No, my Lord,” she looked up into his eyes, which were barely more than the red marbles peering out of slits. “I came to beg for your mercy.” 

He cackled once again. Before she knew what was coming, he had called out, “ _ Crucio _ .” 

The pain hit Nathandra with the force of a tidal wave crashing on the coast. There was a time in her life where her body had built up a tolerance to pain, but this sent rolls of fresh agony through her body. She clenched her jaw, attempting to stifle the sound of her screams reverberating off the dusty walls. Though she tried to sit up through the torture, her body continued to convulse and spasm on the dirty floor. 

She could feel the spell lift from her body, but her muscles continued to jerk of their own volition. Slowly, she shifted back into a kneeling position while the Dark Lord’s cruel laughter pierced through her pain-induced haze. 

“Stubborn as always I see,” he jested. “Wormtail, you have not been properly introduced to our guest.” Pettigrew stiffened in his corner, and gave Nathandra a look of pity that she immediately wanted to slap off his face. 

“I know who she is,” muttered Pettigrew. 

“But you do not know why she is here. Begging like a good little servant on her knees for my forgiveness. My  _ mercy _ .” Nathandra’s gut turned. Accepting that she would someday have to face his cruel mockery did not make enduring it any easier. 

He revelled in her discomfort. “Once one of my brightest followers, a talented duelist like her father. She threw it all away for what? Because she couldn’t bring herself to  _ kill _ the blood traitors that plagued her family tree. I have no use for Death Eaters who will not kill when they are told. You should have died at the bottom of that pit I threw you in.” 

“It takes more than that to kill me. And I can provide my services to aid in you return…” 

“Services,” guffawed the Dark Lord. “Do not delude yourself. I have no need for a criminal for hire. And you have proved yourself to be a disobedient child.” 

“With all due respect, my Lord. That was over thirteen years ago. I realized now I was foolish to protect Andromeda and her family. Forgive a child for holding sentimental thoughts, but understand I no longer have those. I may have come late to your cause but I understand why Mudbloods and Muggles must be put in their place. And I know what you’ve done. I know what lengths you’ve gone to ensure your permanency.” She could hear the breath catch in his throat. Nathandra pressed on, “You’re going to need Balaur venom.” Balaurs were large venomous serpents had once roamed most of Eastern Europe, before witches and wizards had retreated into secrecy; but Muggles had been thought to have hunted them into extinction years before. Nathandra excelled at finding such things, which most wizards had forgotten or thought lost to time. 

“What is that?” squeaked Pettigrew from the corner. 

“Wormtail, go milk Nagini,” the Dark Lord followed his command with a bit of Parseltongue, displeased at his attendant's interruption. The snake that was bathing in the firelight rose up, and moved towards the hall, leaving Pettigrew behind. “Now…” Pettigrew jumped and scurried after the snake. 

“Where did you find one?” Nathandra was overcome with curiosity she had nearly forgotten everything that had happened. 

“That is neither here nor there, Nathandra. Your penance is the only matter at hand.” 

“My Lord, I have spent my freedom acquiring knowledge to aid your cause. I can get access to anything that you might require.” 

“If you had all of this knowledge, why was it Wormtail who sought me out and not yourself?” demanded the Dark Lord. 

“I would have to come to the forest in a moment, if…” 

The Dark Lord dismissed her excuse. “Ah you knew, and yet you choose to stay away.” 

“No, my Lord. Dumbledore,” admitted Nathandra. “He tipped off the Albanian Ministry of Magic, it became impossible to reach you.” 

“Liar,” he sneered. 

“My Lord, I beg you, please forgive me. But it is true.” 

“Stop groveling,” snapped the Dark Lord. “Tell the truth.” 

“My Lord, I am…” 

“No you are not Nathandra. You have been evading the Aurors long before you left Hogwarts. The ignorant and backwards Ministry of Albania would have been no trouble for you. Why have you sought me out?” A small alien hand grasped the Dark Lord’s wand, aiming it directly at her. 

Nathandra weighed the gamble. “The truth? I have a good life here, and I had no intention of changing that by risking getting caught to seek you when there was a fair chance you would have killed me on the spot. But your return is inevitable, as is your rule-I see that now. I want to return to your side because I’d rather risk death than bet against you.” 

The Dark Lord didn’t lower his wand. 

“I’ll never be your ideological zealot. But I will be the soldier who can and will do whatever you ask.”

“My Lord?” The timid voice of Pettigrew, interrupted them. “Your bottle is ready.” 

“Give it to Nathandra, and then leave us. Let’s see if she lives up to her word.” Pettigrew shoved the bottle into her hands and scampered out of the room. 

Nathandra repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she stood as proudly as she could with her screaming muscles, and approached the bundle of blankets. She lifted the Dark Lord and sat down in the chair cradling him like a small child. She held the bottle close to his mouth and allowed his small hands to guide it to his lipless mouth. It was clear from his thin and brittle arms that he could not have lifted the bottle himself. Motionless, she sat as he drank. As he fell into a rhythm and busied himself with his dinner, Nathandra reflected at the oddity of the scene she found herself a part of. The early winter wind picked up outside the mansion, and the walls creaked in a raspy cry.  

The feeble creature in Nathandra’s arms sipped the greenish yellow liquid, that swirled in the glass like mercury, until it was halfway gone. Sated, the Dark Lord swatted away the bottle with his feeble hand. 

“You regret returning to me,” stated the Dark Lord. 

“Pettigrew does,” replied Nathandra with contempt. 

“Yes, he does. But we are not talking about Wormtail now, we are discussing you.” Up close the Dark Lord’s face was waxen and shriveled, almost like a mask she would see on a Muggle's costume. Yet despite his physical frailty, Nathandra could still feel his magic radiating off him in dark waves of energy. 

Her face broke into a sly smile. “I do not regret returning to you, my Lord.” 

“No, you don’t,” his sharp voice sliced through the air, “You want the power that comes from being at my side.”

“Would you rather have the timid Nathandra you left to die in Rami Jahannama?” 

“Put me back down in my chair. I will call for you when you are needed. You are dismissed.” 

Lifting him from her arms, Nathandra placed him back in the moldy chair. She made her way out of the house. Pausing at the door, she tested her luck. “Would you like me to put back up the wards with some competency this time?” 

“Nathandra  _ I  _ will tell you when you are needed.” She smirked and tossed Pettigrew his wand as she passed the cowering in the next room. Despite the Dark Lord’s comment, she put up the wards as she left the grounds of the house and apparated into the night. 


	3. Chapter Three

A piano tinkled a slow blues song into the still Halloween night enveloping the dark forest around Nathandra’s secluded home. Snape Apparated on the edge of the estate and headed towards the front door. With the gravel crunched under his boots, a series of unpleasant sensations quivered through his body as he passed through the wards. 

Still trying to shake the unpleasantness, he rapped on the brass knockers that formed a wreath of roses. 

From inside, Nathandra rolled her eyes and called to him, “You know it’s not locked. You can come in.” She stopped playing the piano and retrieved her pumpkin juice and vodka cocktail from the instrument's lid. Snape shook out his traveling cloak and looked around for somewhere to put it. “You need to stop knocking, I already know who is at my door,” she said as she strode to the door and pulled Snape into a hug. “I can take that,” she grabbed the cloak and tossed it onto the couch in the sitting room. 

“I didn’t want to raise your paranoia, seeing as that could be the only reasonable explanation for this level of security anywhere. Gringotts has less security than this,” he teased. 

“Recent encounters with unpleasant persons have given me cause to revamp my wards. Thank you for noticing.” 

“Lucius’ visits bother you that much?” Snape stepped into the sitting room.

“No,” snapped Nathandra defensively. “Why are you all dressed up?” She dubiously eyed the conspicuously well-tailored dress robes and his freshly washed hair. 

“Why are you not?” responded Snape. He gestured at a garment bag, and at the note written on thick stationary attached to it, hanging in the corner as if suspended from and invisible hanger.

“I’m not going to Cissy and Lucius’ stupid party. And you usually skip it with me...What did Narcissa bribe you with to get me to show up?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. 

“She bought Spore a new bed. Very high quality.” Snape loved nothing in life more than his cat, Spore. Having found her as an abandoned kitten, Spore was the normally cold and unemotional professor’s weak spot. 

“You’re a cheap buy,” smirked Nathandra. “You want to see what monstrosity Cissy wants me to wear?” She pointed at the garment bag with flippant disdain. 

Snape snatched the bag from the air and examined the card on the outside. “Have you even opened this yet?” 

“No. I assumed I was going to ignore the invitation. And the dress robes will be appalling and conservative because Cissy thinks I should be ashamed of my scars and tattoos.” Snape shot her an indignant look. “You know it’s true. I bet you that the card with have a passive aggressive message about never attending her parties and the dress will have fabric up to the collar.” 

Snape opened the letter and made a face of annoyance. Unzipping the side of the bag, a sleeve of a pale pink gown with ruffled lace fell out. 

“Don’t say it,” groaned Snape. 

“Told you so,” teased Nathandra. “Can I get you something less formal to change into? It seems silly for you to stay all dressed up just for me.” 

“Nate,” cautioned Snape, “Swallow your pride, and go get dressed.” 

Nathandra's and Snape's eyes locked into a glaring contest for two solid minutes. “Fine,” conceded Nathandra after the extended silence. “Give me a bit to get changed.” 

She headed up towards her bedroom begrudgingly. “Don’t forget your gown,” Snape called after her. Turning, she aimed her wand at the garment bag in his hand, and shot a fireball at it - immediately incinerating it. 

They both broke out in laughter. “Whoops,” Nathandra called down, as she ascended the stairs. 

* * *

Arriving nearly two hours late, Nathandra and Snape walked up the extravagantly decorated drive. Jack-o-Lanterns lined the pavement and fake skeletons, adorned in bow ties and top hats, danced around on the lawn. The display was lit by paper lanterns carried by bewitched bats. Even the plumage of the lawn peacocks Lucius had bought Narcissa as a wedding gift was spelled to look like falling leaves. 

“Honestly ridiculous. Who thinks of this shit?” whispered Nathandra to Snape. 

“Be nice,” retorted Snape, jabbing his bony elbow hard into Nathandra’s side. 

“I dressed up for you, didn’t I?” Snape did not respond to this, so they walked up to the mansion in silence. Stepping up onto the front porch, Snape reached out to use the knocker; but before he could even reach the door, it was opened. On the other side, the Malfoys' young and overeager house elf Alfie greeted them excitedly.   

“Welcome, Master Snape and Mistress Rosier,” he announced in his high-pitched, whining voice. “Can Alfie take your cloaks?” 

Before they could give an answer, he had already begun to strip them of their outerwear. Nathandra gave an awkward spin to ensure her arms were not pulled at unnatural angles. Having collected the cloaks, Alfie quickly cleared off to hang them out of sight. 

Nathandra tried to smooth her floor length dress robes, which were made of a dark green silk. Her plunging neckline was accentuated by a teardrop emerald necklace. Suddenly, her stomach was abuzz with pixies. She had managed to avoid much of the pompous fanfare of Pureblood life since the downfall of the Dark Lord, but small talk and pointless gossip had never been her strong suit. Moreover, she hated being constantly reminded of her marital status by her peers, many of whom were on their second or third child already. She could not fathom why anyone with the choice would accept the boring, constrained life of a housewife or -- worse -- a socialite. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” whispered Nathandra urgently to Snape, “I’m not staying.” She hastily looked around for Alfie to demand her cloak back. 

“Frightened of the debutantes?” Snape's face had already assumed a cold mask of indifference, but the note of amusement was still audible. 

“Only the ones I went to school with,” muttered Nathandra. As Nathandra spoke, Narcissa appeared at the end of the hallway wearing elegant pale pink dress robes and a matching witch’s hat. She threw her arms open and embraced Nathandra in a hug - leaving her with no room for escape. 

“It is wonderful to see you, Nate.” Her voice was full of genuine joy. “Did you not get my gift?” she queried, surveying her cousin's unexpectedly risque dress. 

“No,” lied Nathandra. “Owls have trouble finding the manor.” Snape shot her a sardonic look from behind Narcissa’s back. 

“Oh,” Narcissa’s face was slightly crestfallen but bounced back to a typical cheerful countenance as she greeted Snape. “It is good to see you, Severus. Thank you for bring her.” 

“It was the least I could do. Spore is in love with her new bed.” 

“Sell out,” teased Nathandra. 

“Well if you just accepted my invitations on your own, I wouldn’t resort to going through him. Come on Nathandra, everyone will be delighted to see you.” 

“I seriously doubt that,” the reluctant guest muttered just loudly enough for Snape to hear. She let Narcissa lead her by the arm into the grand ballroom in the East Wing of Malfoy Manor. 

Just as the walkway was decorated to the nines, the ballroom had been decked out splendidly for the celebration. Strings of orange lights lined the ceilings and the walls. Pumpkins of various sizes and colors sat at the base of cocktail tables that bordered the dancefloor. Witches and wizards stood drinking themed drinks and hor d'oeuvres, which were being served by animated skeletons. A quartet of wizards sat on a slightly raised platform in a corner, playing a classical waltz while couples twirled around the dance floor.

As Narcissa began to talk at length about the decorations and preparations for the ball, Nathandra quickly tuned her out. She began to scope out the ballroom for Aurors and members of the Ministry and to take stock of exits and strategic dueling positions. 

“Nate, are you listening to me at all?” Narcissa’s annoyed tone snapped Nathandra back into the conversation. 

“Do you want me to honestly answer that?” retorted Nathandra. “Sorry Cissy,” she said apologetically. “I’m listening now.” 

Narcissa shook her head in exasperation. “You never change. Come on, let me introduce you to some people.” Narcissa guided her around the room from table to table, occasionally stopping at tables where people awkwardly pretended to have never met Nathandra before - prior acquaintance forged through illicit business dealings was not something usually announced in polite company. Finally, they came to a table where Snape stood with two couples, the women all chatting while the men looked painfully bored. 

Narcissa opened her mouth to begin the introductions, but Nathandra held up her hand. “I think I’m alright with this group, Cissy. I’m sure something else needs your attention more than me right now.” Narcissa politely excused herself, leaving Nathandra with the group. 

“As I live and breathe, is that you Nate?” The tallest man, who had a thick Beater's build and short black hair, pulled Nathandra into a hug. 

“Shut up Bole, you big lump.” Darius Bole had been a Slytherin, like Nathandra, and in her year at Hogwarts. They had been close then, but hadn’t spoken since the fall of the Dark Lord. Standing between Bole and Snape was one of their classmates, Lukas Mulciber, who, though also a Slytherin,  had enrolled two years before them. 

Mulciber, who had been friends with her late brother Evan, was dressed in silvery robes to that matched the hair of his much older wife, Grace Selwyn - a distant cousin of hers. Mulciber and Nathandra exchanged a polite handshake and nod. He had always been a quiet boy, but Nathandra had heard that Evan’s death had rendered him almost mute. 

“It’s good to see you Nathandra,” Lissa Bole’s voice was formal and stiff. Despite being roommates at Hogwarts, they had never quite gotten along. Their third roommate, Prissila Parkinson, had been the only thing that had kept them on good terms. When she was not around, it seemed that they had nothing kind to say to one another. 

“And you Lissa,” replied Nathandra. As a skeleton passed, Nathandra swiped a champagne flute and downed it one gulp. Lissa and Mrs. Mulciber looked scandalized, but Snape and Darius just chuckled. 

“You haven’t changed a bit,” laughed Darius. He gave Lissa a small peck on the cheek. “Come on Nate, I know where Lucius hides the good Scotch.” He led Nathandra and the men of them away from the dance floor. 

After winding through familiar hallways, the troupe slipped into Lucius’ study to find it was already occupied. Kallas Crabbe, Narkis Goyle, and Corban Yaxley sat in the chairs surrounding the large old desk drinking from an old, dusty bottle. Nathandra recognized them from the old days. Crabbe and Goyle were two of the thickest men Nathandra had ever met in her life, both had since begun working in the Ministry doing jobs that would have been more competently accomplished by small children. Their sharper companion Yaxley raised his glass to Nathandra and winked, prompting an aggressive eye roll. 

“Oi,” laughed Bole, “We wanted to drink Lucius’ hidden stash.” He grabbed the bottle off the table and conjured four more glasses. 

Nathandra stepped forward to take one of the glasses, when, out of nowhere, a thin hand pushed her back. 

“Women shouldn’t be here,” said the previously unnoticed addition, a young man, who had been leaning against the wall. He had sandy, messy hair and looked to be no older than fifteen. 

Without missing a beat, Nathandra pulled her wand from her pocket and wordlessly flung the young man on the ceiling and bound him with a rope so he hung like a butchered pig carcass above the group. 

“Don’t touch me,” she replied calmly, retrieving her drink from Bole’s hand. 

“Let me down,” cried the boy petulantly. The men settled themselves around the study, most chuckling darkly. 

“Boys who can’t get themselves down shouldn’t be here,” she mocked, turning her attention to the rest of the room. “Don’t let me interrupt. Yaxley, you were saying?” 

“I was simply entertaining this young man’s pitch for a job in my office,” Yaxley gestured to the man hanging from ceiling with an amused look on his face. 

“It’s going well then, I see. Are you still an officer?” Nathandra asked casually. She had known him since he was a young man, a protege of her father's training facility for internationally renowned duelers. Yaxley had won the international championship in 1965 before getting a job as a Magical Law Enforcement Officer. 

“No, I was promoted to lead the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol a couple of years ago,” Yaxley did not bother to feign humility  

“My sincerest condolences,” Nathandra felt the tension rise in the room, as both Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably. She gave them an appraising look, softly prodding into their minds, searching for the source of their heightened nerves. They were both apprehensive that Yaxley might arrest her on the spot. Yaxley, meanwhile, was eyeing the very low neckline of her dress robes. 

A few moments of tense silence hung in the air, until the door to the office swung open again. 

“What are you all doing in here?” demanded Lucius, exasperated to find his private study filled with unwanted guests. His eyes landed on the man hanging from the ceiling. “What is happening in here!? Let him down.” 

“If you insist,” Nathandra said haughtily, and with a flick of her wandless hand the ropes vanished, leaving the young man to fall unaided to the ground. 

Lucius glared at her, as he snatched the bottle out of Bole’s hand. “You all require the same supervision as small children,” he sneered. “Crabbe, Goyle, your wives are looking for you.” The two men muttered their apologies but left the room to find their partners. 

“I will send you an owl once my department has made their final choice for the position,” Yaxley said to the young man dismissively, who followed Crabbe and Goyle out of the room. 

“Who was that?” asked Bole, tipping the rest of his glass's contents into his mouth. 

“Darren McNair. I wouldn’t hire him for a thousand Galleons. Dim-witted and arrogant little prick,” replied Yaxley. “But enough about him. I want to know where Roiser has been hiding for these fourteen years.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” replied Nathandra with a put-on loftiness. “I have been living in the same house since I was seventeen.” She could see Lucius and Severus roll their eyes as she spoke. “Besides, you’re a Ministry official. Don’t you have a sworn duty to hunt dark witches and wizards? I wouldn’t want to obstruct your work to hunt down the remaining Death Eaters.” 

Even Mulciber let out a chuckle at this. “Lucius wasn’t exaggerating, living alone has sharpened your tongue,” chortled Yaxley. Nathandra responded only with a playful smirk. As it became clear she wasn’t going to respond, he continued, “Come now. I cannot be the only person in the room dying for a story that isn’t these two boasting about their jobs,” gesturing at Malfoy and Bole, “or these two brooding about their jobs,” gesturing at Mulciber and Snape. 

“Which category of storyteller do you fall into?” retorted Nathandra.

“You can ask all night, Yaxley, but Nathandra won’t answer your questions. She is too fearful that the reality won’t measure up to her reputation,” sneered Lucius. 

Yaxley raised his eyebrows, as if inviting her to prove Lucius wrong. 

“I’m afraid I only have vague answer for vague questions,” Nathandra responded airly. She avoided Mulciber’s eye. He had frequently contacted her to procure illegal artifacts, and had no intention of unintentionally outing him - or any of her clients for that matter. 

Lucius raised an eyebrow at Yaxley, as if to say ‘I told you so.’ 

“You’re such a tease Nate,” Bole rolled his eyes and reached for the nearly empty Scotch bottle to refill his wanting glass. “Lucius, do you have more of this stuff?” He shook the bottle for emphasis. 

“Did you drink all my good Scotch?” Lucius’ tone was annoyed on the edge of real anger. 

Nathandra stood up quickly, jumping at the excuse to leave the conversation, “I know where it is.” She winked at her cousin-in-law, as she grabbed the empty bottle.

“I’ll accompany you,” offered Yaxley, following her out of the office and into the hall.

“I think I can manage to find my way to the kitchen,” Nathandra told Yaxley once they were out of earshot of the office. 

“It’s nice to have a new face in the group. I grow weary of repetitiveness,” Yaxley replied. 

Nathandra flashed him a smile as they reached a plain white door. Pushing it open, they stepped into a bright and busy kitchen filled with house elves, hired for the occasion, and a veritable corps of skeleton waiters. 

“Alfie,” called Nathandra into the crowded room. A small house elf tripped out of the chaos to land at her feet. “Collect us a couple bottles of Lucius’ good Scotch, and bring me a dirty martini while you are at it,” she commanded. 

“Yes, Mistress.” The house elf bowed, turned, and ran back into the chaos without another word. 

Nathandra leaned against a polished counter and watched the scurrying activity around her. She ignored the leering look Yaxley was giving her, aware her robes had slipped off her shoulder revealing  her backless dress underneath. 

“You have grown up nicely,” he commented, unabashedly staring at her chest. 

“If you are going to flirt with me, I wouldn’t start with a reminder that you are fifteen years older than me,” smirked Nathandra. Yaxley looked amused, and even a little surprised at her forthrightness. A skeleton carrying a drink came up to Nathandra, and bowed, holding out his tray. She picked it up and took a sip of the glass' salty contents. 

“What’s wrong, Yax, cat got your tongue?” she teased, watching him closely. 

“Just imagining the life you have lived that turned you into this woman.” 

“I’m sure you have some idea.” Nathandra stirred her drink with the cocktail olives impaled on a holiday-themed broomstick-shaped toothpick, “I’d be hurt if I didn’t have a Ministry file.”

“It is filled with conjecture and Auror gossip. I highly doubt any of it is true,” he replied.

“Do tell. What wild stories does this gossip weave?” asked Nathandra with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. 

“Impossible tales, I would rather hear you tell them.” 

Nathandra bit the inside of her cheek, thinking before she spoke. “I was in Rami Jahannama when the Dark Lord fell,” she admitted, her voice dropped to a whisper. 

“The Wizarding Prison in Nigeria?” asked Yaxley with a shocked tone. 

Nathandra nodded, and stirred her cocktail unnecessarily. “When we failed to recover the list of Auror safe houses from the Ministry, Dumbledore counseled Minister Bagnold to move it there as a sign of good faith. He hoped that would convince them to agree to the Anti-Dark Wizard Harboring Accords. I volunteered to collect them because of my knowledge of wards and African magic.” 

“Bellatrix said you were forced to…”

“I know the stories she told after I left.” Her voice was curt. “She wanted to go, and I went behind her back to get it. It doesn’t matter. I was caught before I could find the entire list and only managed to send back two sheets of it.” 

“And you survived?” Yaxley sounded understandably skeptical. The prison was notorious for having the highest mortality rate of any in the Wizarding World. 

“Don’t let this pretty face distract you,” winked Nathandra, reassuming her mischievous smile. “It took me nearly three years to escape. By the time I made my way back to Britain, the Aurors were happily hunting down the remaining Death Eaters, and the Nigerian Ministry was only too happy to provide them with my name and proof of my Mark. Evan was dead, my father, Bella, the Lestrange boys, my friends, my family were gone. I saw no reason to stay. I knew some people from my Grand Tour trip here and there. I mainly stuck to countries that weren’t tasking their Aurors to track down anyone on the International Wizarding Registration of Dark Wizards and Witches.” She shrugged. “I do what I’m good at.” 

“Yet, you came back here?” Yaxley pressed. 

“I got better at moving with being noticed,” she replied tersely. 

Yaxley stared at her with a mixture of awe and pity. “Is it true? Are you really a wand for hire?” 

“Among other things,” Nathandra studied her nails with a bored expression. Looking up to find a look of gall mingled with disgust on Yaxley face, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve seen you kill for fun. Why are you suddenly disgusted because I get some gold on the other end?” 

“It’s not work fit for a young woman.” 

Nathandra laughed in his face, “Merlin’s beard, if I had a Sickle for every time I heard that…” 

“It’s true. I could take care of you.” He reached out an arm and cupped her face in his hands. “I could provide for you and your needs.” 

Nathandra effortlessly brushed his hand off her. “I'm no whore,” snapped Nathandra. “I don’t need someone to care for me. I do perfectly well on my own.” 

“But surely you are lonely,” countered Yaxley. 

“And you think you could provide  _ comfort _ for me,” sneered Nathandra, looking into Yaxley’s face with disgust. “You think far too highly of yourself.” 

“I can provide you with money, your father would want me to…” 

“Ha!” exclaimed Nathandra. “I make more money in a month than you do in a year. As for my father,” she sized up to her full height, barely a hair shorter than Yaxley on her own but looking down on him in her heels. “I assure you he would be disgusted at your offer to make me your mistress, your secret, dependent on your allowance to survive.” Alfie, the long-gone house elf, returned out of breath with two bottles of Scotch in his little arms. Nathandra snatched them up, turning toward Yaxley with a menacing expression on her face, “You demean me like that again and I will tell your wife about this conversation.” 

With that, she turned and marched out onto the porch. The cold air hit her face with a sharp slap. She reached into the concealed pocket in her dress robes and pulled out a small crumpled carton of Muggle cigarettes. Putting a cigarette between her lips, she lit it with the tip of her wand. The familiar feeling of nicotine hit her lungs and quieted her nerves almost immediately. She heard the sounds of the door behind her opening and then closing once more. 

“Do you mind some company?” asked a low gruff voice. Mulciber strode towards her, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dress robes. By the bright light of the party, she could see the age lines beginning to grow across his face. His long black hair was speckled with grey. 

“Not at all. Would you like one?” she said, gesturing at her smoke. 

“No, thank you.” they both stared out at the vast gardens that sat behind the great mansion. “When did you pick up such a Muggle habit?” His voice was casual, as if he was asking about the weather, but Nathandra still cringed inside at the judgemental implication. 

“In America,” she answered dismissively. She looked down at the thin white stick between her fingers. She had tried her first one so long ago that the memory had faded far into the recesses of her mind. “It’s common in the magical population there,” she explained. “It gives me something to do with my hands when I’m bored.” A half lie but Nathandra wasn’t about to complain about Yaxley’s behavior to him. 

“So that’s where you’ve been. I’ve called a couple times but you’re never home,” his voice trailed off. 

“I know,” she replied simply. “You’ve come by seven times since I sold you the unicorn blood.”

“You never returned the favor,” his voice was flat, void of emotions.

She surveyed him, weighing the likelihood that he would notice her mental invasion. ‘ _ Legilimens,’ _ she cast silently. She was flooded with a sense of sadness and images of a loud laughing strawberry blonde boy - Evan. 

“You never left a message I could return,” she answered. A wave of guilt crashed over her. 

“That’s fair,” he replied. A soft silence fell between them. “I miss him, Evan I mean,” he said sadly. It struck Nathandra then how odd it was to see Mulciber on his own. He had always been the plus one with her brother, inseparable. What's more, she wasn’t sure she had ever heard Mulciber talk so much at once. He had always seemed so quiet next to Evan’s loud presence.    

Nathandra felt hot tears well in her eyes and she quickly blinked them away. 

“I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t want to talk about him," he began. She shook her head. 

“No, it’s alright. I’m just not used to being around people who know I had brother, much less someone else who mourns him.”

“I understand. I don’t see much of the old group these days. Snape and Bole occasionally come by for dinner. But nothing like this. To tell you the truth, I’m not even sure why Lucius invited me this year. It’s stirring up all the old memories…” 

“It’s the Mark,” Nathandra said, interrupting his ramblings. “Malfoy is just trying to get back in everyone’s good graces for the day the Dark Lord returns.” 

“So you feel it too,” Mulciber sounded almost relieved.  

‘ _ You won’t feel that way when he releases his anger at everyone’s betrayal _ ,’ she thought. 

“I thought I was imagining it,” he continued, "Wishful thinking, I suppose.” 

“Wishful thinking?” she almost laughed. “We should all consider ourselves very lucky if he does not kill us all for losing faith in him.” 

“Not you,” he said with admiration. “You never lost hope. Snape says you’ve always maintained he would return.” 

Her voice was hollow and ashamed when she finally answered, “I betrayed him long before the Potter boy ever took his powers. My crime is that I did not die in Rami Jahannama like I ought have.” 

“Do you really believe that?” His voice was sad, almost disappointed, as if she had just told him she would miss the next World Cup. 

“Do I really believe the Dark Lord intended for me to die in that prison? Yes, I am sure he did.” 

“No,” Mulciber corrected himself. “I meant do you really believe he will kill you for surviving?” 

She bit the inside of her cheek. She was overcome by the desire to tell him, to warn him of the Dark Lord’s impending return. Then again, not being cursed by the Dark Lord when he inevitably found out was a good motivation to keep her mouth shut. “I suppose we'll find out eventually.” 

“It would be a mistake if he did,” he said quietly. Nathandra stared at him. She had never him be anything but zealously devout to the Dark Lord. “Evan always said you were more powerful than him, even when we were children.” 

“Evan only knew us when we were children,” Nathandra said bitterly, “Alastor Moody saw to that.” 

Mulciber hung his head, “You were still in prison when Grace and I got married, but we left a space for him in the wedding party. Where he should have been.” 

Nathandra didn’t know what to say to this. She stood silently in her uncomfortable feelings of sadness and regret. 

“I saw you at your mother’s funeral. I tried to find you afterwards, but you had disappeared,” he continued. 

“I left.” she explained, her voice harsh and cold. “I only attended to lay flowers on my father’s behalf. I had no interest in celebrating that woman’s life.” 

Mulciber studied her expression. “I never understood how she couldn't see what was right in front of her.” 

“That’s not true. You know very well no one was happy with women joining the Death Eaters when they could be finding a husband and birthing Pureblood babies. At least the Lestranges were married when Bellatrix joined.” 

“You’re wrong,” replied Mulciber. “Your mother was a horrible cruel woman - yes. But your father, Evan, everyone who was Marked, respects you for what you gave up to fight. They never saw your ringless finger as a flaw. They knew it was a sacrifice.” He looked up at her plaintively, as if begging her to agree.  

She wiggled her left ring finger. “It’s not a sacrifice if I had no intention of ever doing it.” 

“Eh, so what. Who cares if you’re a fag.” Nathandra was caught completely offguard as he continued, “Evan knew while we were all still in school.” 

“I am not gay!” stuttered Nathandra. “Is that what everyone…”

“No one cares as long as you don't sleep with their wives,” laughed Mulciber. Continuing to chuckle, he continued, "On second thought, I don’t think Avery would mind as long as he could wa…” 

“Mulciber!” She hit him hard on the arm. “You are unbelievable. Just pity the poor girl who was forced into marrying that insufferable bastard.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Do people really think I’m gay?” She was fixed in a state between annoyance and amusement. 

“I dunno,” he tried to run a hand through his long hair only to find it was tied back in a ponytail. “It was Evan’s explanation for why you turned down Bole’s proposal. And neither Snape nor Bole corrected him so.” he shrugged. “Why else still be single?” 

Nathandra bit back indignant retorts and condemnation of the misogyny implicit in his question. It was frustrating that her entire evening had been spent defending her choices as a woman. But she realized she didn’t have a good answer for him. 

Mulciber took her silence for anger. “I’m sorry Nate. I didn’t come out her to insult you. I just wanted to say I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. And I hope you stay in England.” The words cascaded out of his mouth as if a stopper had been pulled from a drain. 

Her eyes bored into his, as she slipped into his mind. “Lukas, you don’t owe me anything. I have never blamed Evan’s death on anything or anyone other than the wand that killed him.” 

“I should have been there for you. Your brother would have been there for you. He would have found a way to break you out of prison…” 

Nathandra took a deep breath as she gave his an appraising look. “There was no expectation that you would or could do anything remotely of the sort.” She felt bemused at his apparent remorse. She wouldn’t have considered him a close friend, if they were friends at all. He had been the quiet shadow that followed her brother around school and then another generic sadistic Death Eater once they had left. Nevertheless, he stood there, babbling on and on about how he had failed to protect her as a brother would have.  

“You shouldn’t have had to do it yourself,” his deep voice was on the verge of cracking. 

“I prefer doing things on my own,” she smiled sympathetically.

Mulciber looked at her with pity that made Nathandra turn away. She had no need for misplaced compassion. After another extended silence, “Will you be leaving again?” 

“No, I am stuck in this grey country for the foreseeable future.” Her voice hardened as she  thought of the endless grey skies that came with English winter. 

“Are you working a job?” he asked casually. 

“I don’t talk about that.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized quickly, “I just assumed…unless there was another reason...I didn’t mean to,” he took a deep breath, pausing his rambling. “I’m glad you are staying. Would you like to come for dinner sometime? Grace would love to get to know you more.” 

Nathandra bite back her desire to say no. The solitude she had grown accustomed to would surely be destroyed if she began to make house calls. “I would like that very much,” she lied. It did not do her any good to continue to isolate her from the people she would soon return to seeing regularly. 

“Good,” he pulled her into a tight embrace. “I have missed you Nate.” 

She patted him softly in return, trying to avoid coming off as condescending. ‘ _ Did you really miss me or the person your memory has made me out to be? _ ’ she wondered as she comforted her one-time acquaintance in the cold Halloween night.  


End file.
